Thrice Defied
by EnterWittyNameHere
Summary: “…Born to those who thrice defied him…” What exactly did Lily and James Potter do to outsmart the most feared and evil Dark Lord of all time? Just how did those events unfold? And who knew that HeWhoMustNotBeNamed was environmentally aware?


A/N: Er…really, I'm not too sure were this short little ficcy come from. I was merely browsing through the books the other night and stumbled upon the quote below. All sorts of odd and silly images flashed through my mind. I'm not sure if this counts as a drabble, 'cause it's really more of a collection of very small one shots, but…you get the idea. Please excuse all spelling/grammar mishaps…I've checked but I only have so much of an attention span…

Enjoy my madness.

Oh, and review it too:)

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"…_Born to those who thrice defied him…"_

--- Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 37.

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_Defied Once:_

Lord Voldemort, supreme Dark Lord of the wizarding world and tormentor of muggles and mudbloods, was out one fine Sunday afternoon doing his weekly shopping in Diagon Ally, squinting at the inky mess that Fenrir Greyback passed off as handwriting.

"Let's see," mumbled He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. "Bellatrix wants more of her BitchFlakes, but I know Lucius is having to watch his blood pressure, so it'll have to be low-sodium…"

You-Know-Who meandered around the market, poignantly ignoring all astonished and fearful looks thrown his way. After all, it was _his_ day off and a Sunday too boot. These blasted people would just have to deal with his presence. It wasn't like he was just running amuck and killing innocent people.

Yet.

Humming to himself, Lord Voldemort looked down at his list to see that the Death Eaters apparently needed more bananas; Merlin only knew how many banana bread loafs Wormtail had made over the years. With a snort of irritation (honestly, all the big supermarkets were out to get him, the consumer, nowadays), he noticed that there was only one delicious and highly nutritious bundle fruit left on the produce stand. Without another regard for those around him, Voldemort reached out to seize the last bunch of bananas when out of nowhere a hand darted out and snatched them back before the Dark Lord could do so much as blink.

With a flourish of his cloak, blood-red eyes bulging with disbelief, Lord Voldemort spun on his heel to face the soon-to-be-dead imbecile who dared take the last bit of fruit from under his nonexistent nose. He was met with humorous hazel eyes framed by thick glasses.

"Cheers, mate." A man with messy black hair grinned, before trotting off with the fruit safely tucked under his arm.

"Damn, Potter…" Lord Voldemort muttered, shoving his shopping cart violently forward.

_Defied Twice:_

Lord Voldemort, supreme Dark Lord of the wizarding world and tormentor of muggles and mudbloods, stood silently in the dark shelter of one corner of the muggy and dank magical nightclub, wondering how in the Seven Hells he had let Lucius and Rodolphus talk him into coming with them tonight.

Ignoring the throbbing headache his evil genius brain was developing, and the tick that kept repeating in his right temple, the Dark Lord made his way menacingly over to the sidebar, taking care to glare at any incompetent fool that dared glance at him.

"I'll have a dry Martini, barkeep!" You-Know-Who yelled over the throbbing baseline. "Hey! Barkeep! Yoo-hoo!" It didn't work. To the Dark Lord's immense surprise, the idiotic man behind the bar simply kept on ignoring him; it didn't matter that there were other thirsty patrons, dammit, _he_ was the all-important Dark Lord and he wanted a goddamned dry Martini. "Merlin's Balls! Who do you have to _Avada Kedavra_ around here to get a bloody drink?!"

Just then a flash of sleek, shiny red hair invaded his vision and he found himself face to face with a very pretty, green-eyed vixen.

"Hello," said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, showing off his impressive 1940's charm tactics.

"Hello," the woman purred back, grinning and showing off gleaming white teeth. "Would a nice—err—man such as yourself mind throwing down a couple of Galleons so a poor girl like me could get a drink. I'm dreadfully thirsty from all my dancing." To add to this, the woman pushed out her modest chest.

Lord Voldemort looked down his—well, it would have been a nose—at the rather impressive sight and felt all his protests melt away.

"Well, that depends," The Dark Lord purred back, a predatory gleam in his maddening eyes. "Would a nice girl like you mind giving an omnient Dark Lord like myself your number?"

The woman gave a grin back, flipping her vibrant hair over her shoulder. Instead of answering him, she merely waved her hand in the air until she caught the barkeep's attention. "I'll have a rum and coke, please."

Lord Voldemort inwardly flinched; perhaps this girl, pretty though she was, was not as desirable as he had thought.

The woman, drink now in hand, turned back to the Dark Lord and flashed him one last stunning smile before turning to disappear into the crowd. She stopped at the edge of the dance floor, on the verge of melting back into the mob of sweat, baseline, and sex and purred back her last words.

"Put it on _his_ tab, Charlie."

And with a flip of her vibrant red hair, the woman was gone.

Lord Voldemort, brain kicking into gear now that the chance of getting a piece of ass had vanished with the red-haired vixen, scowled. To add insult to injury, or perhaps simply more insult to insult, the barkeep, Charlie, had the nerve to ask the Dark Lord to pay up. A smoldering pile of ash and dry Martini mix later, Lord Voldemort stalked out of the nightclub, sans loyal Death Eaters.

"Stupid, sexy Potter…" He muttered, kicking spitefully at a stone in the gutter.

_Defied, Thrice:_

Lord Voldemort, supreme Dark Lord of the wizarding world and tormentor of muggles and mudbloods, slathered on his umpteenth layer of SPF 10, 000 sunscreen on his sickly pale skin, while at the same time trying to keep one eye on Rookwood and Macnair who were splashing about in the swallows.

Satisfied that he was painted thick enough to keep him from later resembling a cooked lobster, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sat back in his beach chair and proceeded to catch some rays, mindful of the random Death Eaters who frolicked around him. He stayed relaxed until bothered by his own growing hunger.

Making sure to take a few extra minutes to paint on more sunscreen, the Dark Lord eased himself out of his chair, stretched and then made his way to the extra large cooler stuck in the sand. He bent over the cooler, unconsciously ducking a spiked volleyball sent array from one Narcissa Malfoy, and felt his moods elevate even higher. Gasping slightly from the shock of the ice cubes against his heated flesh, Lord Voldemort dug around until he grasped a decent sized tuna sandwich and then plodded back to his chair.

The Dark Lord surveyed the rather peaceful setting and grinned around his mouthful of Dolphin-safe tuna sandwich—he may have been a spiteful Dark Lord, but he was still environmentally aware—and for the first time in years felt as though absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Or so it seemed, until a couple plus a snuggled bundled baby, made their way down the beach to just past the Dark Lord's spot. Lord Voldemort threw them his best (and patented) death glare, hoping to scare them off. He didn't really fancy sharing his piece of paradise with a smelly, whinny baby brat.

However, seeing as the young family was not responding to his threatening looks, Lord Voldemort decided to speak up.

"Um, excuse me? Yes, ah, I was wondering if perhaps you wouldn't mind moving you and your swarthy, smelly brat to a different location. See, your awfully close and, well," Here You-Know-Who gave a particularly nasty chuckle. "I do believe I, ah, we—as in my _Death Eaters _and _I_, their dictatorial Master and Lord—were here first."

The man, messy haired and hazel-eyed, snorted while his wife, a pretty vivacious red-haired thing, glared in response. They simply ignored the Dark Lord's rather pleasant request, and continued to set up their own picnic spot.

Sniffing with disdain, Lord Voldemort decided that perhaps the best way to deal with the annoyances would be to ignore them as well. Sort of like, cancel one another out. Yes, that sounded good.

Grinning despite himself, the Dark Lord settled back in his chair, picking at an itching spot on top of his balding, yet nicely tanning, head.

He was just beginning to doze off when something slightly warm and slimy feeling wrapped itself around his ankle. He gave a rather unDark Lord-ish like squeal and jumped up from his chair. A curious giggling sound broke his attention away from wiping his leg clean, and he found himself looking down at a pair of innocent, almond shaped, green eyes.

It seemed as though the couple's little brat had crawled his way over, while his parents continued setting up their packed lunch.

"Can I help you?" Lord Voldemort asked, feeling slightly unnerved by the unwavering stare of the young boy.

The baby boy blew a snot bubble in reply.

"Err—right…"

There was a sudden scream and Lord Voldemort was violently pushed away from the tot. He gained his footing and turned to see the young mother cradling her son while her husband, wand drawn, stood in front of them.

"What did you do to my son!?" The man yelled, face flushing red.

Lord Voldemort blinked. "Nothing."

"Don't lie to us!" The woman screeched, hugging her son tightly to her chest to cease his squirming.

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Oh, yeah, suuuure!" The man rolled his eyes. "I'm sure an all-powerful, not to mention probable kiddy molester of a Dark Lord did absolutely nothing to my boy!"

"Sir, I assure I did not harm your son…" said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Who-Also-Doesn't-Molest-Chilren-Thank-You-Very-Much.

"We're still going to report you to the authorities anyway!" The woman, son safely over her shoulder, cried. "You shouldn't even be on this beach!"

"Look," reasoned the Dark Lord. "Why don't we all sit down and enjoy some Dolphin-safe tuna and see if we can't come to an understanding here—"

The most feared dark wizard of time was cut off when the man kicked sand into his face. By the time he had cleared his eyes of the stinging grit, he realized two things: 1) his sandwich now lay unpalatable upon the sand and 2) that the family had all but disappeared from the beach.

"Damn! One of these days Potter, one of these days…" Lord Voldemort sighed, picking morosely at his sandy sandwich.

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A/N: Hmm…hope that's as funny as I think is…let me know! And yes, I know that everyone was OOC…that's the point. That's why it's called a Parody.

Thanks for reading:)


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